


the start of the beginning

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: One Shot, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-17
Updated: 2008-08-17
Packaged: 2019-01-19 14:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12411993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: It was a desperate plea for help and it had swept away all her disapproving frowns. It frightened Lily. But what frightened her more was the strong urge she could feel blooming inside her: the strong urge to make her sister happy. She was compelled to give her the one thing she had ever drawn the courage to ask for.





	the start of the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**A/N: This is the first piece of fanfiction that I was ever truly proud of, and also, coincidentally, my first piece on here. I’ll let you figure out on your own who that floating hand belongs to.**

 

 

 

_the start of the beginning_

 

 

 

Her Great Aunt Penelope was wailing.

With every ear-splitting sob that emerged from her lipstick-smeared mouth, her body trembled. She had somehow managed to squeeze her pudgy feet into a pair of four-inch heels; they made her teeter unsteadily in the damp grass. It was obvious to Lily that she was not crying over the coffin they were encircling, or even over the heartfelt words being spoken. The tears she squeezed out of her big doe-like eyes were a result of her niece’s will, which had been read to them just yesterday.

Lily’s mother had always been a very fair person, and it didn’t come as a surprise that, to her dying day, she had tried to make everyone happy.

To her two daughters, she entrusted her savings and the sentimental things. Her best dinner plates were to go to Petunia, but her favourite cookbooks were presented to Lily. Her wedding dress was gifted to Petunia, but her wedding ring was to go to Lily. To her brother, William, she awarded her stock shares. And, to her Aunt Penelope, she bestowed the measly amount of money that was left over.

On any other day, this would’ve been humorous. It was well known in the family that Aunt Penelope had never earned a pound by herself, and the look of disappointment that had flitted across her face when she had heard the will had been absolutely priceless; it was but a preview of her misery now.

The attendants of the funeral were all starting to file out of the garden and into the house for the wake; the ceremony was over. As some passed, they nodded or spoke their condolences to the two unfortunate sisters. Almost all of them tilted their heads and volunteered sympathetic smiles. Lily tried to summon a weak smile to her face in response. She should be thanking each guest, but she was sure she would choke on her suppressed tears if she even tried, and there was really no need to draw more attention to herself.

Instead, she glued her eyes to the cottage she had once called home and allowed herself to be swarmed with a rush of forgotten memories as the guests disappeared inside.

Her father was sweating under the heat of summer, and his gentle hands patted the soil around the flowers; her mother pulled a tray of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven and twirled across the kitchen, humming a familiar tune without a care for anything else in the world.

Tears threatened to gush down her face, and Lily tore her eyes away from the building. Only a few feet away, the coffin beckoned to her almost maliciously and she stepped forward. A few more steps and she’d be there. A few more steps and she could stare at the cold, limp body of her mother and maybe then she’d finally be dragged out of this ultimate denial she’d wrapped herself in ever since her father’s death in second year–

“Lily.”

It was a whisper. No, it was lower than a whisper. It was a faint murmur, caught up in the wind and whisked into her ears. She whirled around.

Petunia was standing on the pathway that led back to their house. She must’ve been standing next to her all along, too absorbed in her own enigmatic thoughts to even consider going back into the house and playing host as she usually loved to. It was all too strange how alike they could be.

A wisp of a memory floated through her mind. She was running; Petunia was only a few steps ahead of her. Lily was stretching her small fingers forward to catch the soft fabric of her sister’s summer dress in a childish game of cat and mouse but suddenly she was clutching air; Petunia had dashed out of her reach again and her yellow hair was dancing in the wind and there were bright red stains on her cheeks.

The change in her sister’s appearance was alarming. After frequent picnics with her new husband and his family, her skin had settled on a dull beige colour; under the moonlight, it was unusually pale. Lily wondered if she herself looked the same after all these years.

Petunia wrung her hands in front of her, a sure sign that she was nervous. “Were you going to leave before the wake?” Her voice was soft and hoarse, as though she had not spoken for a long time. It must’ve been the first time in years that she’d said anything to Lily without a hint of hostility.

She nodded without thinking. It would be so easy to go back to Hogwarts and pretend this had never happened. She could just burrow beneath her warm covers; by the time everyone else got back from the Christmas holidays, she would be perfectly fine. Her hand drifted into the pocket of her winter coat, where she knew her wand was. She had felt it pressing against her body all day, constantly tempting her to run away and forget everything about the Muggle world; tempting her to leave and never return to this dreadful house and the bittersweet memories it would inevitably unleash.

Petunia was quivering. By the distinct pursing of her sister’s lips, Lily might’ve assumed she was angry, however, her narrow brown eyes were fixated on the ground; they were hesitant and afraid in a way they’d never been before. The words left her mouth, presumably before she could stop them. They hovered uncertainly in the air before them.

“My distaste for your abilities does not exceed my need for a mother.”

If she had not been part of this scene, Lily might’ve commented on how practiced the words that emerged from Petunia’s mouth were. She might’ve giggled at the thought of her sister rehearsing them, to request something from her when they hadn’t spoken to each other civilly in years. When the full meaning of her sister’s words washed over her - like a bucket of cold water - she could find nothing humorous about the situation.

Petunia was staring at her with a foreign expression mutilating her sharp features. It was a desperate plea for help and it had swept away all her disapproving frowns. It frightened Lily. But what frightened her more was the strong urge she could feel blooming inside her: the strong urge to make her sister happy. She was compelled to give her the one thing she had ever drawn the courage to ask for.

She was more like her mother than she knew.

Lily opened her mouth to tell her sister that it couldn’t be done. She opened her mouth to say the truth and face the wrath of her sister’s disappointed anger, but Petunia knew everything before she even had a chance to speak; the previously approaching dawn of forgiveness vanished.

“I should’ve known you were lying all those years ago,” she shot out shrilly, her voice laced with bitter resentment. “You said that magic could do anything – anything at all! I bet there’s a way to bring her back to life and you just don’t care enough about her!”

Lily flinched, and involuntarily took a step back. It didn’t matter now that her back was pushed up against the coffin or that she was shivering in the harsh  
wind. All she could feel was the cold guilt, bubbling up inside her body and threatening to enclose her forever because she had heard the same thoughts in her mind before. She had viciously blamed Hogwarts and magic and Muggle diseases, but she had blamed herself so much more than anything else because it was her fault she did not know enough.

But it was so much worse to hear someone else say it.

Petunia’s face was ghost white; her arms were stiff and her fingers viciously curved into tiny fists. “You don’t deserve to be here! You don’t deserve to be her daughter! You don’t deserve her love or her pride! You don’t deserve any of it!”

She didn’t want to be there anymore. She didn’t want to see the guests from the funeral poking their heads out the kitchen window to see them rowing over the body of their _dead_ mother. She didn’t want to listen to Petunia telling her things she didn’t want to hear, telling her things that centuries would not erase from her mind; she needed to get out of there.

Her wand slipped out of her fumbling hands, but she caught it before it could fall to the ground. She wouldn’t listen to Petunia; she wouldn’t listen to the words and insults that were spilling out of her mouth, even if a part of her believed they were the truth.

She didn’t give herself time to consider her luck in apparating safely to the Hogwarts iron gates. She didn’t allow herself to feel the relief she knew engulfed her when she found that they were wide open to welcome her; she ran up to the castle in the pouring rain and tried not to think about anything.

If she had been able to see past the tears that were furiously cascading down her cheeks, she might’ve found it slightly strange that, only moments after she had collapsed on top of her bed, a hand had graciously offered her tissues.

It would take over a year before Lily would remember that the hand had been floating in midair.

 

 

 

 


End file.
